


Lightfest: How the Vessels Celebrate their Father's Birthday

by Brackets_002



Series: Children of Wyrm [3]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Merry almost-late Christmas!!!, everyone is happy au, how did the vessels gain access to an oven, nobody proofread this, welp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 23:52:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13154700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brackets_002/pseuds/Brackets_002
Summary: It's Lightfest in Hallownest, the anniversary of the Pale King's "birthday," but something's different this year: he has children who want to celebrate.





	Lightfest: How the Vessels Celebrate their Father's Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! Managed to get *one* of my Christmas Fics done on time! Don't listen to the date on the header, it's still Christmas for five whole minutes where I am.
> 
> I had to take a lot of liberties with canon to make this even sort of work, even setting aside the premise of the AU. I'm still pretty happy with how this came out, so whatever. This is a gift for the Discord.

              To hear a royal retainer gasp in awe and to see them bow as low as they could go was hardly a new occurrence, so the Pale King only paid them any mind when he heard them start to stutter out a word. He paused and turned to look upon the retainer, not unkindly, but with a curiosity easily mistaken for impatience as they stumbled on their very first word. “Yes?” he said after several minutes of waiting. “Did you want something?”

              “M-my King,” the retainer stammered. “Um, that is, that is, my  _Lord,_  I-I…” the King glanced away, wondering if this was worth his time, but as the retainer continued to speak he decided to be polite. “—That is, um. I hope you, no, I wish you h-have—"

              “Take a deep breath,” the King said calmly. “In, then out. Speak with certainty.”

              He could hear the retainer’s breathing: rapid, shallow gasps as they tried to get their nervousness and their words under control. It took a few seconds for the breathing to become slower, longer, and then the retainer managed to say with only a slight stammer, “I’d j-just like to wish you a, a merry Lightfest, my King. And a...a happy birthday, sir.”

              By the old shell, was that what day it was? The Pale King blinked, staring at the retainer that remained bowed so low their face practically touched the ground. Time flew so fast, faster than he could ever dream to. But then, it had slowed slightly this year, the greatest, most important moments of his life filling up the whole of his memory of the year. He gave the retainer a stiff bow and mumble of “Thank you,” before turning and walking away. He could hear the retainer suppressing squeals of delight and awe at his gratitude. 

* * *

               “Of course, it isn’t actually my birthday,” he said to the Queen as they walked to the dining hall together later, the Great Five close behind. “Today was Lightfest long before I was reborn into this body.”

              “I know, beloved,” the White Lady said with eyes closed.

              “The moths continued to celebrate it even after I convinced them to seal away the Radiance and forget about her. I claimed I had been born on the day of Lightfest to better establish myself as something to be worshipped.”

              “You tell us this story every year, my Wyrm,” she replied patiently. “I’m certain I could recite it with you by now if I so wished. It was amusing the first dozen times, but it has since grown tiresome. I implore you to find another story to tell.”

              “I still find enjoyment in it,” the King defended. As they approached the doors to the dining hall, he added, “I may gain new tales this year. It is our children’s first major holiday, after all.” He placed his hand against the door but turned to look at each of his Knights in turn before saying, “They’ve never experienced a Lightfest before, everyone. They may be confused by the festivities. You must all be careful not to overwhelm them with too much at once, understood?” He watched each of them nod in turn—Ogrim and Isma exchanged a quick glance before they replied to him. “Good,” said the King, and pushed the door open.

              The dining hall was a scene of chaos; the King froze two steps in as he saw the six misshapen birthday cakes and large pile of poorly-wrapped gifts sitting haphazardly on the largest table. The Vessels—the children—buzzed about the room as fast as their tiny legs could take them, many of them carrying rolls of paper or large, artistically shaped lumafly lanterns. One of the Vessels stood on two stacked chairs, holding up one side of a homemade banner and attempting to pin it in place; a Vessel standing atop one of their siblings manned the other side, trying and failing to make it straight. Most of the fifty children seemed to flit about aimlessly, perhaps trying to clean or prepare in other ways, but one of them—Asco—happened to glance in the King’s direction and visibly panicked.

              At once they were pushing against the King’s legs (head height for them), trying their best to shove them back into the hallway. The King humored them, slowly stepping backwards until they had left the room the way they had come and Asco closed the door before waving their arms in a gesture of  _no._

              “You don’t want us to come in yet,” the Queen interpreted aloud, and the child nodded eagerly. “May we ask why, Asco?”

              Asco shook their head so fast their parents suspected they had made themselves dizzy. From beneath their white robes they pulled a tablet of beeswax spread over a shellwood frame and a stylus made of blended iron and Pale Ore with a spherical tip and a wide, flat back end. They took a second to scribble on the wax before turning it to show the King and Queen. The wax would need reapplied soon—most of the surface was taken up by things they had previously “said” and crossed out. But two-thirds of the way down—they had to lean forward to read—Asco had written,  ** _No reason._**

              “You want us to wait outside...for no reason. I see.”

              If Vessels were capable of sweating, a bead of nervous perspiration would have visibly rolled down the side of Asco’s pale mask. Quickly they slid the wide, flat end of the stylus over their previous words—it didn’t perfectly hide the previous writing, which is why they rarely bothered—before writing again and showing them.  ** _It’s a surprise_** _._

              “Alright,” said the White Lady, giggling, before the King could say anything. “We’ll stay out here until you’re ready. But please do hurry.”

               ** _Thank you, Mother_** _,_  Asco wrote, already backing away and towards the door. They bumped into it and turned towards the door with an air of surprise before cracking it open and slipping inside, trying not to give the adults a view of the room beyond. They took one last look at the parents before the door clicked shut.

              The King stared at the closed door for a minute before he turned partway to look at the Great Five behind him. “Did one of you tell them that today was Lightfest?”

              “Of course!” said Ogrim, one claw to his chest proudly. “I told them all the story of your birth and the celebration Hallownest holds in your honor for it! The official version, of course. They’re not old enough for the complete story. I’ve also taken the liberty of purchasing gifts for all of them. I intend to hand them out this evening before we attend the city’s celebration.”

              “It appears,” mused the King, “that the children have made plans to celebrate long before the time for that,” and he couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face or out of his voice when he said it. He turned to his Root and added, “I believe I saw cakes in there. Ones they made themselves. Did you know they could bake?”

              “I didn’t,” she said with a giggle. “Oh dear, I hope they didn’t get up too early to plan this. They need their rest, and we won’t be back to put them to bed until late tonight.”

              “You may be surprised,” said the deep, soft, accented voice of their largest Knight behind them. “Children have more energy than you’d expect when they want to. After the festival they’ll want t’stay up far later than you will, mark me words.”

              “How  _is_  your daughter, Hegemol?” asked the White Lady suddenly, perhaps simply to pass the time. “You’ll see her tonight, I assume?”

              “Aye,” Hegemol said with a bit of yearning. “The letter she sent me a few days ago talks of a friend she can’t wait t’ introduce me to. It’ll be good to see her again. It’s been so long I’ll ‘ave forgotten what she looks like, and won’t that be embarassin’.”

              A good-natured chuckle went through the others, and the King said, “If you want you don’t have to spend all your time with the other Knights. We’d all be happy to let you go see your family more…”

              “Ah, I’d better not. This kingdom needs me on call and ready, same as the rest of you. Besides, if she sees me more me novelty’ll wear off. Can’t have that, it’s the only thing I have goin’ for meself.”

              The door clicked open again and a Vessel—Ion this time—poked their head out to look at the waiting adults. They stepped more fully out into the hallway and the King could see their small hands tapping together nervously. Dryya leaned to the left a bit to get a better look through the ajar door at the room beyond. Ion looked up at her, and then as if to dispel the tension all at once they pushed the door open fully and practically skipped back in.

              The cakes were spaced out across the table they had been placed on and the wrapped gifts were stacked on either side of the centermost one, the cake just in front of the King’s seat. The lumafly lanterns dotted the room in a largely-symmetrical arrangement, the glass of the lanterns intricately sculpted and shaped into artistic expressions of geometry. They hadn’t been made for this occasion; nobody in their right minds would have allowed the children anywhere near a furnace of any kind, let alone for long enough to learn how to blow glass; but clearly the Vessels had gone out of their way to find and collect the most beautiful lanterns in the palace. Above the whole scene, between two white pillars and arranged so those at the table faced it, the banner had been pinned only  _slightly_  crooked; the painted words  ** _HAPPY BIRTHDAY FATHER_**  could be read from absolutely anywhere in the room, and the King stared at it with an undignified smile climbing up his face.

              “What a wonderful surprise,” he said, his voice cracking, and the Vessels already beginning to crowd around him reacted with glee. “Thank you, children. I love it.”

              The children rejoiced. The King could barely move through the sea of bouncing, robe-tugging Vessels to reach the table, and when he finally managed to slip into his high-backed, ornate chair two of the nearest ones crawled into his lap eagerly. He laughed and returned their hugs without hesitation, but then another of the Vessels pushed a present at him and he caught it hurriedly before it could fall off the table.

              The Vessels were rarely permitted to leave the palace without a Kingsmould to protect them, and their allowance was only a few Geo each per week, so the gifts they had gotten him were, by any other standard, somewhat lackluster. The King loved each one anyway, and when he pulled apart the wrappings to discover the occasional homemade present he took the time to lovingly examine the crude craftsmanship that its maker was obviously very proud of. Here was a novelty hat for keeping a bug’s horns warm; there was tangled, crooked scarf that perhaps explained why its maker, Kedyia, had asked for a book on knitting the previous week. He had put both on with glee and only a second’s hesitation, and in response had heard the rare sound of Dryya’s laugh.

              Eventually he unwrapped the last present—an inkwell that Mikró had sculped from clay and baked a little too long—and set it aside with a smile, gently nudging Taoci off of his lap. “This was all wonderful,” he said, looking down at the blank faces that nevertheless managed to beam with pride at his compliment. “Thank you so much, children. I wish I—wait. Ogrim!” His wife and the Great Knights had taken their seats while he had opened the presents his children had shoved his way, and now the dung beetle leaned forward in his wide, sturdy seat as the King addressed him. “You said you had bought gifts for each of them. I know it’s earlier than you intended, but could you go and get them, please?”

              “I’ll do it,” Isma said, hopping out of her seat before Ogrim could respond. “He stored them in my room anyway, to keep them clean. Just a moment, children.” She took off at a quick pace, out the door behind them and down the hall, leaving the Vessels to stare after her confusedly.

              The King glanced between his children, noticing their reactions. Expressionless though their faces were, their body language had gradually become more and more emotive, and now he could read their confusion plainly. Over half of the Vessels had tilted their heads to a slight angle as they had watched Isma jog down the hall. One of them scratched the side of their mask, just beneath their horn, and as he watched a few of them began to look rapidly between him and the door as though asking for an explanation. “Ogrim,” he said slowly, without taking his eyes from the Vessels, “when you explained Lightfest to them, did you perhaps neglect to mention that they received presents as part of it too?”

              “I intended it to be a surprise,” Ogrim said with a look equal parts pleased with himself and miffed. All the children’s heads had snapped up to look at the King as one when he had said this, and now as they looked first at Ogrim, then back at the door, their growing excitement was obvious. A few had begun to bounce in place gleefully. One broke away from the gaggle and ran to hug Ogrim out of sheer delight. He caught them and returned the hug with a laugh. “Hohoho, don’t thank me alone!” he cried, holding them a little bit away from himself. “It was partially Isma’s idea too. When she gets back remember to hug her as well.”

              The King and the White Lady glanced at each other, coming to a silent agreement: that Vessel would need a quick bath before they went to attend the festival that night. Having no sense of smell, however, the Vessel went back to hugging the dung beetle without hesitation. The sound of Isma’s return—her grunts of exertion and the noise of something being dragged—prompted the King to look around the backrest of his chair to see the green Knight dragging a large sack into the room before she threw it open and selected a present at random. “Taoci?” she read the tag aloud, and the asymmetrical Vessel hurried forward and accepted the gift she handed them.

              For the next few minutes the air was filled with the sounds of ripping paper and Isma’s voice as she read out the name on each tag, the Vessel whose name she called held up their arms to take the present she gave them, and then hurried off to a corner or just sat down where they stood to tear the package open. Some got toys, others clothing; the King saw his smallest child peel the wrappings away to reveal a thin children’s book and immediately open it to begin reading. It was Ion who tapped Mikró’s shoulder to call their attention away from the book and to something Ion had written on their tablet and was now showing them.

              Mikró hopped to their feet and nodded hurriedly at their twin before the two split and set to work rousing the attention of another three of their siblings. “What are they doing?” the King asked the nearest Vessel as the seven quickly hurried out of the room; and though the Vessel he had asked shrugged, they did so with a suspiciously mischievous air. The seven returned after only a few seconds, dragging one of their play tunnels with them—a toy of sorts made from several large shellwood hoops, held together by lengths of white fabric to form a tunnel large enough for a child to crawl through. They pulled it to the front of the room, between the pillars and under the banner, and their audience watched as one of the Vessels crawled inside—Amyr, so named because the shape and arrangement of their four horns made them look extraordinarily like their father. Amyr crawled through the tunnel until those four horns poked out the front of it, and then Mikró walked in front of it and held up their own tablet.  ** _This is the Wyrm_** _,_  it said in letters large enough for the audience to read.

              “It’s a  _play_ ,” the other adults heard Hegemol breathe. “They put together a play for you.”

              Ion walked forward, opening up their wax tablet and showing the audience the words written on it in their best handwriting.  ** _Once upon a time, the Wyrm came to the Kingdom’s edge and dyed there_ _._**  They gave the play tunnel a small kick that was probably meant to be subtle. The Vessel inside thrashed around a little, as though in their death throes, before rolling slightly over and lying still.

              **_But then!_**  read the words on the third Vessel’s tablet, giving the tunnel another, even less subtle kick. As Amyr crawled out the front, glitter fell off their white robes in little flakes, and the King wondered if the glitter had been waiting in the tunnel for the Vessel to roll around in. As they stood and shimmered in the light, he at last realized where this was going and had to fight not to bury his head in his hands, embarrassed.

              Amyr produced their own tablet and held it up for the audience to read.  ** _From the Wyrm was reborn the most smart bug ever. He radiated light, and chose to share that light with the bugs of Hallownest._**  They took one hand from their tablet and tossed a bit of glitter, as though demonstrating. As it drifted to the ground they flipped their tablet around and the audience read,  ** _And that’s why we celebrate Lightfest._**

              “Le’mer!” At the far end of the table, Ze’mer rose to her feet, her antenna almost brushing the ceiling. “What wonderful performance! Che’ has never seen such passion, such devotion to the work, in bugs so small, so young. Brava, le’mer, brava!” As the Vessels stood in front of their audience awkwardly, their father, mother, and the other four Knights joined her in a standing ovation.

* * *

              The capital of Hallownest also held a celebration of Lightfest, one that the King had never attended before; but the revelation that he had become a father had led him to decide to take a small step away from his elusive reputation. He was beginning to regret this already: he could barely eat a mouthful of the feast, having been stuffed full of cake earlier that day; his wife had insisted he wear his new hat and scarf, which he felt hurt his image even further than simple attendance; and the fifty small children that he had brought now were scattered around the great hall and the rooms beyond, and now he waited with dread for someone to come tell him one of them had hurt themselves in their curiosity.

              It wasn’t all bad, though. The King looked down at the Vessel sleeping in his arms; barely an hour into the festivities, his smallest child had come back to him and curled up in his lap, almost too tired to keep their head upright. In Mikró’s case at least, Hegemol had been wrong. And speaking of…

              “Dad!” called a young bug, weaving through the crowd to meet with the mighty knight.

              “Well, look who it is,” said Hegemol warmly, kneeling to better see his daughter. Only a child, she was already twice as tall as any Vessel and over half the height of her father. “I’m happy to see you again, lassie. I’ll bet you ‘ave quite a few new stories to tell yer ol’ dad, aye?”

              “Aye!” she agreed. “Mam sent me t’fetch you first, though. She says she’ll ‘ave your ‘ide if you delay a second longer. Come on, she’s over there!”

              As she led him away, the King heard Hegemol ask, “And who’s this friend you want t’introduce me to? Must be quite the bug to catch your eye.”

              “Nola’s with Mam,” his daughter replied. “I can’t wait for you to meet ‘er.”

              That was the last of his Knights informally off-duty for the festival. Ze’mer, of course, had departed before they had even reached it, slipping away to spend the night with Lily in the mantis village. At some point Isma and Ogrim had departed together; they’d likely be back, but he wouldn’t bother them if they decided not to rejoin him. Dryya hadn’t technically left the Queen’s side, but she was on her second cup of mulled mead and had become infinitely chattier with any bug who would come near. If his Knights were now off-duty, he supposed he could be too, and the King stood up, careful not to wake Mikró as he cradled them, and wandered towards his wife.

              She was chatting with a butterfly when he reached her, who he recognized as the young songstress Marissa. “It’s no trouble, really,” she was saying, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. Asco stood just to the right of their mother, staring up at Marissa with what could only be described as reverence. “I’m happy to support such a talented singer. But if it you aren’t too terribly booked in the coming weeks, I so rarely get to attend one of your concerts. Could you do me and my husband the honor of a private performance at our palace?”

              “The honor would be mine,” Marissa replied in her calming, naturally melodic voice—even when she wasn’t singing, notes seemed to form in her mouth effortlessly. “It always stirs my heart whenever I look out from my stage and see you there. To sing for you and your family exclusively I would gladly give everything I owned. Oh! My King,” she added, bowing.

              The Pale King bowed back, although it was a little more of a dip of the head. “It won’t come to that,” he said. “Just let us know when you’re available and we’ll send an entourage for you. I’d love to hear the bug who’s captured my wife’s interest like you have. And it appears Asco would, too.”

              Asco’s attention, however, seemed to have been sidetracked by the sleeping Vessel in their father’s arms. Before the King could speak a word of protest, they hopped up—he was always shocked by how high they could jump—and poked Mikró in the shoulder. The King watched as his smallest child lifted their head groggily, looked up at him, and then looked back down when Asco jumped and poked them again. After a second they began to squirm in their father’s grip; when he leaned over to raise his brow at them, inquisitive, they pointed down at their sibling and kicked their legs desperately.

              The King chuckled. “Go play, Mikró,” he said, setting them down, and they immediately chased after their sibling, who was headed for the door that Ogrim and Isma had just reentered through. Ogrim now sported a thick red cloak with white trim over his shining armor, likely a gift from Isma, and the Vessels darted under it, weaving between the beetle’s legs and feeling the fuzzy material with their hands and horns.

              He was pulled away from watching this by his wife’s hand on his shoulder. The Root was far taller than he was, even in this form, and she smiled down at him with dark but shining eyes. Into her branches she had tied a plant from her gardens—one he didn’t know the name of off the top of his head, but its green, round leaves and white berries complimented her appearance nicely. “Excuse me for a moment, Marissa,” she said to the singer, although she didn’t take her eyes off of him. “My beloved urgently requires my affection.” As she bent down to kiss him, her branches and the plant decorating them grew to frame the two together.

              Unofficially, the meaning of Lightfest changed that night. Oh, sure, as far as the Vessels and greater Hallownest was concerned the holiday still commemorated the day the King had emerged from the grave of his former self and begun to spread his wisdom and light to the common bugs. But the Pale King himself had long grown annoyed with that explanation, except as a throwaway anecdote for his own brief amusement. But to see the exuberance with which his children celebrated the “anniversary,” to see the joy in his Root’s eyes as her branches gently encompassed him, caused the King’s heart to race in his chest even thinking about it days later. Lightfest had long since stopped making him truly  _happy;_  but when it brought joy to his wife and children, they brought joy to him.

**Author's Note:**

> White Lady, why are you wearing mistletoe in your branches? It's a parasite. It's bad for you.
> 
> I know what you're thinking: "Wait, Hegemol is CLOTH'S DAD?!" Canonically, no, of course not, but wouldn't it be great if he was? They're both huge but soft-spoken, and--oh, you weren't wondering that. You were wondering which Vessel was which. Gotcha.  
> Asco is the dead Vessel you see in Greenpath, the one you get the mothwing cloak from.  
> Taoci is the Broken Vessel.  
> Ion is the Hollow Knight.  
> Mikró is Ghost.  
> Nobody tell them what happens to their canon selves, they don't need to know that yet.


End file.
